


(Virgin Anger) And the Will to Power

by MercurialTenacity



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cafes, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, First Time, Graves Cooking, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kissing, M/M, Manipulation, Nipple Play, Obscurial Credence Barebone, Power Dynamics, Religious Content, Seduction, Self-Discovery, Sleeping Together, Topping from the Bottom, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 03:22:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11327637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurialTenacity/pseuds/MercurialTenacity
Summary: “Sir?” Credence asks.  He looks as though he isn’t sure how he’ll be received, unsure of Graves’ intentions.  “Can I help you, sir?”This close Graves can feel the faint aura of magic around him.  Not enough for a wizard, and his powers would surely have manifested by now were that the case, but Graves would gamble that he comes from magical blood.Which means Graves can help.In which Credence makes some important discoveries and Graves doesn't know what he's getting into.





	(Virgin Anger) And the Will to Power

Graves has been watching the Barebone boy for over a week when Credence finally spots him.

Graves is standing at the mouth of an ally when Credence looks up, eyes taking in the sparsely trafficked street, and sees him.  Graves berates himself - too late - for allowing himself to be seen.  He of all people knows how to observe in secret, but he’d let himself grow complacent, lulled into thinking of this more as a favor than a job.

He’d agreed to look into the case for Tina, who had been desperate for it to be seen through after her suspension.  He remembers her worried frown and the plea in her eyes, and he’s done his best to honor her request. _“Just look into it,”_ she’d asked, _“please.  He deserves to have someone watching out for him.”_

And Graves can’t exactly disagree.  If the Barebone boy is a squib, as Tina suspects, he should never have lost the protection of the magical world.  And the more he sees, the more he forms the opinion that no one should be subjected to the kind of treatment he receives, magical, squib, or no-maj alike.  Still, Graves hopes he finds a squib - if he’s just a no-maj, Graves’ jurisdiction ends.

He’d watched the boy from a distance, trying to figure out the best way to approach him, and he’d known immediately why Tina felt drawn to protect him.  Quite apart from any other grudge she may have against the Second Salemers, this boy seems a fragile thing.

Credence looks at him in surprise, and there’s no doubt that he realizes he has Graves’ attention.  He takes a step forward and Graves considers backing into the alley to dissaparate, but after a moment’s hesitation he lets Credence approach him.  He’d been working up to this anyway and, though it’s not the way he would have chosen, it will do.

“Sir?” Credence asks.  He looks as though he isn’t sure how he’ll be received, unsure of Graves’ intentions.  “Can I help you, sir?”

This close Graves can feel there is a faint aura of magic around him.  Not enough for a wizard, and his powers would surely have manifested by now were that the case, but Graves would gamble that he comes from magical blood.  Which means Graves can help.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

He takes to visiting Credence at lunchtime, finding him on the streets and simply talking with him, giving him something to do other than watch people pass him by.  Graves quickly finds that Credence is starved for affection.  It’s no surprise, not at all, but it hadn’t occurred to Graves how much Credence would seem to crave his touches - he leans into every point of casual contact as though he needs it to live.  Graves indulges Credence even though perhaps he shouldn’t, and it’s too easy to pull Credence into his arms and give him the comfort he’s been denied for so long.  

He explains himself as belonging to a group who helps people in difficult situations such as Credence’s, which is technically true, and Credence seems to decide that Graves is sincere.

But eventually he can’t avoid the central reason for his interest any longer.

“Your mother teaches you about witches, yes?” he asks one day, accompanying Credence on a less than busy street.

Credence nods.  “Yes sir.  There are witches living among us today.”  Credence says this as though it were obvious, which it is, considering the leaflets he’s holding.

“Credence -” Graves starts, and he decides that dancing around the topic will help nothing.  Though Credence may have been taught that magical people are dangerous, at least he already believes they exist.  “I’m able to help you because I believe you had magical parents.”

Credence frowns, shaking his head and looking at Graves in disbelief.  “My parents were witches?”

“That’s right.  Despite what your mother teaches, it’s fortunate for us.  Were you a no-maj - non magical - I would have no jurisdiction to help you.”

“Am I a witch?”

“No.  You have magical blood, but no magic yourself.  It’s rare but it does happen, and that’s likely why the magical world lost track of you.”

“Are you a witch, sir?”

“Yes - or rather, a wizard.  I work for the magical government here in New York.”

Graves takes in Credence’s nod, and he frowns himself.  “You don’t seem surprised.”

“Ma always said I was wicked.  I guess this is what she meant.”

Graves’ heart aches for this boy, taught to hate himself so deeply.  “Magical blood doesn’t make you wicked.  Witches and wizards can be good or bad people, just like anyone else.”

Credence nods again, looking thoughtful, and there’s something in his expression that Graves doesn’t recognize.  Something that worries him.  But Credence is taking the news better than Graves could have expected considering his mother’s preaching.  It may take him some time to unlearn the fear she instilled, but with help Graves believes he can get there.

“Are you all right, Credence?”

“Yes sir.”  Credence nods slowly, taking in Graves’ words.  “Is there - is there somewhere I can go with… your people?”

“If you’d like to, yes.  What happens next is in large part up to you.  There are regulations to abide by and I’m afraid it will take time, but this is your choice.”

“I’d like some time to think, Mr. Graves.  Will you come again next week?”

“I will.”

 

\----------------------------------------

 

Credence goes back to the church with his head buzzing, full of discordant thoughts to piece together.  His ma had been right all along.  He’d more than once questioned her gospel, though he’d quickly learned to do so privately, but in the end she’d be right.  There are witches among them, and he’s one of them.  Or nearly enough anyway.  But they don’t seem intent on causing harm.  They have a government, Graves had said, and even if they are the Devil’s work they seem to more or less keep to themselves.

Credence doesn’t know what it would be like to join them, he doesn’t know exactly what Graves is offering.  He doesn’t even know if it would be possible to live in their world without being able to perform magic.  He doesn’t understand how it is his parents could be witches and not him, but he sets that question aside for another time.

Leaving the New Salem Society is everything he never dared to dream of.  He’d had no possible way out, nowhere else to go - until now.  He could go to live with the witches, and they could protect him.  Graves could protect him.  He seems a powerful man, and if anyone could stand against Ma perhaps it would be him.

But seeing Graves makes Credence think of sinful things.  Things he shouldn’t imagine with anyone, much less a man, but he can’t deny it.  When Graves laid a hand on his shoulder it had sent a tremor into his very bones, suffused with a warmth he was coming to crave.  Graves’ touch, his voice, his body, it twists inside him and the vision of what he might look like breathless lodges unbidden in his mind.

If he’s descended from witches, if the wickedness is in his blood… why should he try to fight it any longer?  Twenty years and Ma couldn’t beat it out of him - perhaps it’s time to accept that God never was the one who had a plan for him.

If he does it right, perhaps he can be free of his mother and have Mr Graves as well.

Credence goes to bed that night with conflict still circling in his mind, guilt coiling in the corners, but when he wakes he knows - he’s going to get exactly what he wants.  He sees how Graves reacts to any display of vulnerability.  Graves wants to save him, and Credence is going to find a way to make sure he does so in every sense.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

“How long will it take, Mr Graves?  You said it would take time.  How long?”

Graves shakes his head, wishing he could give a better answer to the desperate boy standing before him.  “I’ll move things along as quickly as I can, but - weeks, at least.  Reintegrating someone into the magical world is a complicated process legally, more complicated than it should be.”

Credence nods, eyes on the ground.  “But you’ll try?”

“Of course I will.  Of course.  I’m here to help you Credence, and it’s only a matter of time now.”  Graves reaches out a hand to rest on Credence’s shoulder, wanting so badly to comfort him.  There’s something about Credence that makes Graves want to shield him from the world, and give him the life of kindness that he deserves.  He would help Credence regardless, no one should be in his situation, but the boy brings out a protectiveness in him which is difficult to ignore.

“Mr Graves, I - I don’t want to go back to her just yet.  Will you - will you stay, for a while?”

Graves can’t refuse him.  He can afford the longer lunch break once in awhile, and it seems cruel to leave Credence with here with only a hope and a promise, to be sent back to his life at the New Salem church for who knows how long.  With Tina on suspension he's Credence’s only link to the world he belongs in.

“Yes.  I don't need to leave just yet.  Have you eaten?”

Credence looks at him with those big wide eyes, and he shakes his head.

Graves takes him to the cafe on 32nd.  It's a small place run by a witch, one if the few that serves magical clientele.  It's subtle by necessity, but the coffee stays hot and the tables set themselves, and Credence stares around in awe.  The fact that he can see it rather than passing by none the wiser merely confirms his blood status.

Graves shouldn't do it, technically.  Credence isn't legally recognized as a squib or a member of the magical world, and he shouldn't be seeing these things yet.  But Graves wants him to know that magic can be something other than wicked.  For all its beauty it can also be ordinary, a part of life that simply is, and Credence needs to become used to that.

“This is magic, Mr Graves?” Credence asks once they’re seated at a table.

“It is.  Self-heating coffee cups are one of the better inventions of the twentieth century thus far, in my own opinion,” Graves answers, taking a sip from his.

Credence looks up in surprise when a roll of parchment and a quill levitate over to take their order, and he looks to Graves.

“It will record what you want and take it back to the kitchen,” Graves explains.  “It helps to speak clearly, they’re a bit finicky.” And, as it happens, one of the more controversial inventions of the twentieth century.  To read the newspaper editorials about the decline in service is as dramatic as any radio play.

“Baked ham with celery,” Graves says turning towards the parchment, and he indicates for Credence to do the same.  Once it's whizzed back off to the kitchens Credence turns back to face him, the wonder plain in his eyes.

“This is what Ma is afraid of?”

Graves nods.  “This, and what it would mean for her kind were we to gain power.  Ironically, her efforts to expose our society pose more of a threat to her world than we do now.  We want to live peaceably, that's why we stay hidden.”

Credence listens silently, and Graves can’t blame him if he’s overwhelmed.  It must be a lot to take in, and Graves simply wants to make the transition as easy as possible.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

Graves stands with Credence on the sidewalk after lunch, all too aware that their time this afternoon is coming to a close.  Credence is practically trembling in the breeze, and Graves’ heart aches to send him back.

“I’ll do everything I can to expedite the process,” he says, trying to ease both Credence’s mind and his own.

“WilI see you again?” Credence asks, sounding tentative.  “In the meantime I mean.  Even if there’s no news, I think it would be easier to bear if I could see you.”  There’s a timid hope in his eyes, and Graves knows then and there that he should say no.  He couldn’t say why he’s so sure that nothing good will come of it, but he knows the wise thing would be to refuse.

How could he refuse this boy anything?

“Yes.  I’ll find you again.”

Credence’s face cracks into a smile, the first Graves has seen, and the way it lights up his face is enough for Graves to know that he’s doomed.  He reaches out to squeeze Credence’s arm, the slightest offer of comfort, and Credence takes it as an invitation.  Before Graves really knows what’s happening Credence is leaning into his chest, and Graves brings his hands up to hold Credence’s shoulders.  This isn’t something he should be doing, but it seems to be what Credence needs.

After long moments Graves pulls back, and noticing the wetness at the corners of Credence’s eyes makes him feel guilty for doing so.  But he has to go, both of them do.

“I’ll find you again soon, Credence.  I promise.”

If anything Graves would have guessed that Credence would flinch away from touch after the abuse he’s suffered, but any time Graves puts a hand on him Credence leans into it as though it were his salvation.  It becomes a habit for Graves to put an arm around him or to squeeze his shoulder, even cupping his cheek if he’s particularly upset.

It’s an easy gesture, however small it may be, until Graves can help him properly.  And Graves finds that he doesn’t exactly mind.  Credence is a handsome boy underneath the haircut and the stiff clothes his mother forces on him, and to have Credence leaning against his chest stirs something inside of Graves.  It does occur to him that might be precisely the reason he shouldn’t do it, but for better or worse he pushes those thoughts aside.  This is something Credence needs, and if Graves enjoys it as well that makes no difference.  It’s purely an act of comfort, there’s no reason it should ever go further.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

Graves arrives at work to find an urgent summons from Picquery on his desk, and he knows immediately that today will be one he’ll want a drink after.  He unpacks his briefcase quickly, and makes his way to the president’s office without delay.

He’s called in after only a moment’s wait and takes a seat opposite Seraphina’s serious expression.

“Madam President,” he says in greeting, and she acknowledges him with a curt but not unfriendly nod.

“Percival.  I’ll get straight to the point.  The attacks your department has been investigating - our analysts have found a pattern.”

Graves frowns, leaning forward in concentration.  “The ones by the dark creature?  They’re connected after all?”

“Yes.  But there’s no creature responsible.”  Seraphina picks up a folder from her desk, passing Percival a copy of the report.

Graves opens it, skimming the top sheet of parchment, and his eyes widen.

“It’s an obscurial,” Seraphina confirms.

“Merlin.”  Graves closes the report, to read more thoroughly later.  He lets out a breath and looks back to Seraphina.  “Who else knows?”

“You, me, and -” Seraphina leans forward to open the report cover, glancing at it quickly.  “Phineas Fletcher.  He brought it straight to me, as he should have.  But more will need to know soon.  We can’t keep this information a secret, our people need to know what they’re dealing with.”

Graves nods.  “The key will be controlling how it spreads.”

“That’s why you’re here.  I want you to brief your senior aurors this morning, and the rest of your department this afternoon.  We need an organized response, Percival.”

Graves spends the next half hour pouring over the report before he summons his aurors, and the rest of the morning after that putting together a coordinated response strategy.  His people are professionals, not prone to panic, but the tension at MACUSA mounts as the day wears on.

It’s a while before he can leave work long enough to find Credence again.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

The next time Credence sees Graves it’s as though there’s a shadow over their meeting.  Graves is distant, distracted, as though there’s something other than Credence on his mind.

That won’t do at all.

“Sir, what is it?” Credence asks, keeping the accusing edge out of his tone.  “Is something wrong?  Did I do something…?”

“No, no my boy, I’m sorry.”  Graves’ expression clears a bit but his frown remains, and Credence does his best to hold back his frustration.  “I just came from a meeting with the president, that’s all.  There’s - well, there’s a threat in the city.  Some kind of magical force, wreaking havoc.”

Credence makes a non-committal noise.  It is interesting, he supposes, but he’s not here to listen to Graves complain about work.

“I think -” Graves hesitates, and Credence looks up.  “I think you may be able to help me, Credence.  We believe it’s an obscurial - someone whose magic wasn’t allowed to manifest.  When that happens it can create an obscurus, a violent and uncontrollable magical force, in the host of a child.  I ask you Credence, because the attacks have a pattern.  They’re all centered around the New Salem church.”

That gets Credence’s attention.  He stops toying with his saucer and looks to Graves, eyes narrowed in confusion and calculation, but stays silent.  What exactly is Graves asking him?

“Do you know of any children like that, Credence?  Children who might have had their magical abilities suppressed by the Society?”

“There are quite a few children at the church,” is Credence’s careful answer.  His mind races, trying to put the pieces together, and he needs more information.  “Sir?  What attacks?”

They’d been nothing in the papers.  He’d checked.

“Four at least, but there may have been more before we realized they were connected.  One at a printing house, another at a campaign speech, more in the area.  We keep magical activity out of the news,” Graves explains, answering Credence’s next question before he asks it.  “They wouldn’t have been in the no-maj papers.”

“Why a child?”

“The obscurus is a parasite.  In the end…” Graves drops his gaze before looking up to meet Credence’s eyes again, seeming as though what he’s about to say is unpleasant for him.  “It kills the host.  There’s been no documented survivor past the age of ten.  That’s part of why it’s so urgent - if there’s any way we can help this child, we need to find them quickly.”

Credence takes a breath to steady himself, mindful of his words lest he give too much away.  “I’m sorry Mr Graves.  There are so many children at the church, if you could tell me anything else about them… if it was a boy or a girl?”

Graves shakes his head, wrapping his hand around his coffee cup and staring down into it.

“We don’t know.”  He he finishes the coffee in a long swallow, setting the cup back on the table with a clink.  “I’m sorry to involve you in this.  It’s not something you should have to worry about, not with everything else.”

“I don’t mind sir,” Credence says, turning his expression earnest.  “But I could help you better if I knew more.  If you learn anything new…”

“Yes, I’ll let you know if we learn more.”  Graves checks his watch, and Credence sees him bite back a curse.  “I’m sorry, I can’t be away long today.  This threat -”

“I understand,” Credence says softly.  “You’re needed.”  It’s no matter.  Any other day Credence might object, might try to push Graves to stay longer, to give more of himself, but now Credence has his own thoughts to pursue.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

Credence lies awake a long time that night considering Graves’ words.

So they hadn’t been dreams.

Graves had only mentioned the printing house and the campaign speech, but Credence knows the other two locations.  He knows there were other attacks, going back years.  He'd looked for each of them in the papers the next day, and each time he'd found nothing.  He hadn't dared to mention it.  He'd thought he was possessed or going insane, but no.  He's an - obscurial, had Graves called it?  But he's no child.  He's twice the age Graves had cited and he’s survived this long… he doesn't know what that means.

A child with magical abilities that had been suppressed.  So he is a witch, a real one; no squib after all.  He wonders if that means he’ll be able to do magic some day.  If perhaps he’ll be able to learn to work enchantments like Graves, to make things fly or disappear.  But if his magic is caught up in this - thing, this obscurus, is that possible?  He doesn’t know how it works, and he can’t ask.

Still, he’s annoyed to have lost Graves’ attention over it.  

But he hasn’t, he realizes.  Graves is more invested in Credence than ever.  Credence caused this, the chaos in the government and the destruction in the streets.  Though Graves may spend less time with him, Credence now fully occupies his attention.  Every moment of worry or strategizing is a moment spent thinking of Credence, whether Graves knows it or not.  Credence’s lips form a smile at the thought, unable to help the curl of satisfaction that the entire magical government, the _president_ , are in a flurry of panic because of him.  Without even meaning to he’s gained their attention.

Not only is he a witch, he’s a thing that witches fear.

What does it matter whether he can levitate scraps of paper when he can bring an entire government into a frenzy?

He falls asleep that night feeling something unfamiliar.  He has power now, power he never knew he had, and he is going to use it.  He won’t be ignored any longer.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

Credence knows about the next attack before Graves tells him, and he struggles not to reveal as much.  The memories are hazy, blurred and dim in some places and overly vivid in others, but he remembers feeling it start.  He’d known what it was this time, and instead of fighting it he’d welcomed it.  He’d embraced it, and he’d soared.

He sees the way Graves’ face creases when he talks about the aftermath, and it makes Credence flush with control.  He’s done this, him, he’s caused the circles under Graves’ eyes and the way he pinches the bridge of his nose with worry.

Credence feigns interest in the magical government to ask for details about their response to the incidents, and he has to stifle his smile behind the rim of his coffee cup when he hears about the emergency meetings, the late nights, the urgent cover ups.  Graves tells him that the president herself is involved, receiving daily briefings on the subject.  Daily briefings on Credence.

Credence gives Graves the names of a couple children at the church who Ma has suspected of being witches, to give him something to do and to make himself seem useful.  He is both the problem and the solution here, and in time Graves will see that.

But not yet.

Credence does his best to act as though Graves’ accounts alarm him, and as though he were looking to Graves for reassurance.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

“I don’t want to go back to her today,” Credence whispers as their meeting draws to a close.  “Not tonight, just for a night, please.”  Graves shakes his head but Credence clings to him, desperate, not letting him pull away.  “You can make her forget, can’t you? You do it all the time for the obscurus incidents with dozens of witnesses, and she’s just one person.  Please, don’t send me back to her.”

He can’t, he can’t possibly.  It’s illegal, an abuse of his power and position.  He doesn’t know how to explain to Credence the rules surrounding obliviation, but when he looks down to see the tears spilling down his cheeks he doesn’t have it in him to try.

“Credence…” Credence looks up at him hopefully, nestled in his arms, and Graves brings a hand to the boy’s cheek.  Graves could do it.  He could do it easily.  He’s a skilled obliviator and it would be simple.  “Where would you go?”

“With you,” Credence says, burying his head in the crook of Graves’ neck.

And Graves - Graves is damned.

“One night.”

Credence looks at Graves as though he hung the moon, and Graves wraps his arms around his shoulders, pulling him in close.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

That evening Graves brings Credence home.  He holds Credence close and apparates them to the doorstep, leaving Credence breathless and shaky against him.  He keeps an arm firm around his shoulders as he unlocks the front door, and then he guides Credence inside.

Graves turns the radio on and situates Credence on the sofa while he prepares them both dinner.  Credence offers to help but Graves refuses him, unwilling to make the boy work tonight.

“I can handle it fine,” Graves insists.  “It’s an old Graves family recipe, let me make it for you.”

Credence and relents and he curls on the couch, watching Graves cook from the living room.

The evening passes too quickly, but by the end Graves has seen Credence smile.  It’s a rare sight indeed, and it lights his face up like the sun, making him glow beautifully, a forceful reminder of how lovely he really his.

He sits curled against Graves’ side on the couch, and Graves can’t quite remember how they came to be in that position.  He considers shifting to establish a more proper distance between them, but Credence looks so peaceful with his eye half closed as the radio plays in the background that Graves can’t bring himself to disturb him.  He strokes his fingers through Credence’s hair, soft beneath his touch, and breathes deeply at the half formed murmur it draws from Credence’s lips.  The conversation has long since lapsed, but it feels right somehow that the moment is unbroken by words.

But eventually it grows late, and the inevitable can’t be put off any longer.

“Come my boy,” Graves says softly, “time for bed.”

Credence stirs and nuzzles against him sleepily, seeking contact even as Graves moves to rise.

“Please sir, just a little longer.”

Graves doesn’t know what he expected to happen, and he doesn’t know why he thought he could refuse.  Still, he has to make some attempt at propriety.  At decency.

“It’s late, Credence.  Even having you here, what this sort of thing implies -”

“I just feel so safe with you sir.  Even knowing you’re nearby, it’s as though nothing could hurt me. We only have the one night, please.  I just want to be close to you.”

When Graves looks down there are tears shining on Credence’s cheeks, and he should have known better than the bring him home.  “A little longer,” he relents, and Credence melts back in against his chest, looking for all the world as though he were at peace.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

At first Graves isn’t entirely sure what wakes him the next morning.  There’s sunlight in his eyes as he starts to drift back into consciousness, a weight on his chest and something warm against his lips, wet like a kiss.  He turns his head into it, sighing gently with the soft press and parting his lips, offering his mouth to Credence.

To -

Oh god.

Credence’s tongue dips inside his mouth and Graves jerks back, awake in an instant and putting his hands to Credence’s shoulder to keep him from following.

“Sir?”  Credence’s voice is soft, as soft as his lips had been.  He seems only puzzled, not startled, by Graves’ sudden awakening.

“Credence - what -?”

“I’m sorry sir, I just - I wanted to try it.”

Graves’ mind is reeling, acutely aware that Credence is still on top of him and desperately drawn in by those round brown eyes.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.  I liked it, and I thought… I thought you did too.  I thought you liked me,” he adds in a whisper, and Graves doesn’t know what to say to that.  He did like it, and he wishes his body were making that easier to deny.

“I did - I do.  I like you very much Credence, but there are different ways - more _appropriate_ ways -”

Credence shakes his head, looking lost.  “I don’t understand.  If you like it and you like me, why won’t you show me?  No one’s ever been kind to me like you have sir, I never thought someone would want to touch a person like me, but you…”  Credence leans in, his hands on Graves’ chest, until Graves can feel Credence’s breath against his skin.  “Please, sir.  Please kiss me.”

Graves can’t make himself turn away.  He shouldn’t do this and he shouldn’t want this, but he does.  He wants the boy in his lap, his warm lips and his soft skin, his beauty and his delicacy.  Graves wants to hold him close and easy the worry, kiss away the lines from his face until Credence is gasping, thoughts only for him.

Slowly, dizzy with the idea, he lets his lips meet Credence’s own.

The heavy warmth that seeps through him is overpowering, and he spends a moment just feeling it; just letting the taste of Credence start to filter into his mouth, making little swipes with his tongue over the boy’s lips.  Credence gives a little gasp against him, air on his skin, and Graves runs his hands up Credence’s back.  He knows hazily where this will lead, and he tries not to let it occupy his mind as he takes Credence’s face in his hands, pulling him deeper into the kiss.

Credence’s eyes fall closed and Graves shifts them, wrapping his arms around Credence and rolling them until Credence is beneath him on the couch.  Credence goes easily, letting himself be moved and looking for all the world lost in bliss with Graves blanketing him.

It’s hard for Graves to think straight like this - it’s hard for him to think at all.  Credence squirms under him and Graves groans, working his tongue between Credence’s lips until his mouth falls open and Graves can taste him properly, flicking his tongue against Credence’s.

Graves finds Credence’s quick fingers undoing the buttons on his own shirt, and he slides his hands under the fabric to feel the smooth skin.  He brushes his hands over Credence’s chest as he presses up into it, and when Graves’ fingers catch on his nipples he hears Credence’s breath stutter.

Graves slows the movements of his hands, working back and forth over the little nubs with feather light touches, teasing, as Credence twists under him to get more of the sensation.

“More sir please, oh - _oh,_ please…”

With a small smile Graves relents, squeezing down gently on Credence’s nipples before rolling them between his fingers and making Credence’s head fall back, chest arching up off the couch.

“Yes, ah - _thank you,_ yes -”

Graves works Credence’s chest until his nipples are puffy and red, just to the point of soreness, delighting in his every moan and whimper.  He kneads into the muscle, massaging deep circles around his areolas and pressing the palms of his hands along the lines of Credence’s too-visible ribs.  Graves holds him like that, steady, and he lowers his head to lick a stripe beneath Credence’s pectoral.  It’s obscene, how good Credence’s skin feels on Graves’ tongue.

Credence’s hand finds Graves’ cheek and pull him back up to a kiss, gently sucking Graves’ lower lip into his mouth.  So close together Graves can feel Credence’s thudding heart, and he presses his warm palm above it.

“So good, sir…” Credence murmurs into Graves’ mouth.  “I’ve never felt so good as when you touch me.”

The words send a pulse down Graves’ spine, a surge of heat that nestles itself deep inside, and he can’t deny either of them any longer.  He smooths his hands down Credence’s sides until he reaches his hips, fingers playing around the waistband of his pants.  He pauses, seeking some last gesture of encouragement, and it comes in the form of Credence hastily undoing the button at the front, granting Graves access.  Graves reaches down, feeling Credence through his underwear and palming his already half hard cock.

Credence’s whole body jerks when Graves’ fingers fall on him, his eyes going wide with the new sensation.  Graves tugs Credence’s waistband down his thighs, fully freeing his cock, and wraps his hand around it firmly.

The _sound_ Credence makes goes straight to Graves’ own cock.  It strains against the front of his pants and Graves longs to free it, but he’s also loathe to be distracted from the task at hand; Credence, laid out before him, the most beautiful thing Graves has ever seen.  Graves rubs a thumb over the head of Credence’s cock and watches how his thighs tremble.  He crawls down Credence’s body until he can press his tongue from the base to the tip, tasting drops of precome.   He massages Credence’s inner thighs until he’s begging, moaning, “ _please sir please I want it, I do, I do oh, sir -”_

Graves can’t deny him anything.  He tightens his fingers and strokes as he laves his tongue over the head, and sensitive as Credence is it takes only a few short moments before he’s tensing up, hips jerking into Graves’ hand, breath catching as he comes.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

It’s the most glorious thing Credence has ever felt.  It bursts through him like a liquid white light, the obscurus’ equal and opposite in the way it fills every part of him to completion.  Graves draws it out of him in waves, and Credence lets it carry him until he’s dizzy with it, gasping deeply as his head rolls back against the pillows.

So good of Graves to yield to him - it had been easier than Credence thought.

He lies there for long moments basking in the afterglow, every soft kiss Graves presses to his skin amplified with oversensitivity.  He could lie like this for days, drinking in the pleasure Graves gives him, so magnificently welcome after a lifetime spent in pain.

But that was before he knew the power he had.  Before he knew the power he had over men like Graves.  Show him tears and he would fall to his knees, it would seem.  Credence shivers in anticipation to show the man real power.

Graves’ kisses have grown less frequent, and Credence opens his eyes to see him working the fastenings of his own pants, trying to free his aching cock.  Credence smiles and does it for him, taking out Graves’ length and letting it rest in his hand.  He squeezes experimentally and draws a low moan from Graves, his eye falling closed as Credence slowly starts to move his hand.  Credence has never done this before, but if Graves’ reactions are anything to go by it shouldn’t be difficult to make it good, or good enough at least.

He lets Graves work himself up until he’s thrusting into Credence’s hand in search of greater friction, low, half bitten back moans falling from his lips.  Credence waits until he judges Graves to be on the brink of release and looks up at him, taking in the strands of hair falling in his eyes, the sweat slicking his skin, the utter need written across his face, and Credence wants to make this man his.

And he will.

“It’s me, Mr Graves.”

“Credence -” Graves grunts, uncomprehending.

Credence can’t hold back the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and for once he doesn’t try.  He tightens his grip just slightly, just enough to make Graves’ eyes fall closed in pleasure.

“I’m your obscurial.”

Graves’ movements stutter to a halt, his eyes flying open again.

“What?”  Graves makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat at the lack of sensation, and he shakes his head.  “Credence, that’s impossible.  I can explain how - _later,_ just _-_ _Mmm_ -”

“But it’s not, Mr Graves.”  Credence feels the obscurus stirring inside him, as he’d hoped it would.  It’s so much easier since he learned what it was - a companion with him constantly, not something to fight but something to embrace.  He lets it gather beneath his skin, building there in a way he knows will frustrate it but which is necessary.  Later it can be free, but _not yet._  He needs Graves to feel it.

And Graves does.  Even without letting the obscurus manifest Graves can _feel_ the power of it, rolling out of Credence like an inky storm, magic sparking dangerously through the room.

“Dear God,” Graves murmurs, and Credence rubs his thumb over the head of Graves’ cock.  Graves’ eyes go wide as climax hits him, falling over the edge and spilling into Credence’s hand with a small cry.

Credence watches, fascinated, as Graves comes undone, overwhelmed with shock and pleasure and looking very little like the enigmatic man he’d first met on the street.  Credence never realized how easy it would be.

It leaves Graves shaking, trembling overtop of Credence, body heavy in the wake of his orgasm but pulling back all the same.  Credence follows, closing the distance between them until he’s once again in Graves’ lap, hands resting on his shoulders.  Graves is shaking his head in disbelief, stripes of white clinging to his abdomen, struggling to come to terms with what Credence has shown him.  What Credence has done to him.

“You say it’s uncontrollable sir, but it’s not.  You’ve seen that.  And it’s easier when I get what I want.”

Credence draws Graves’ arms around his waist, tucking himself securely into his lap, enjoying the comfort being held by Graves gives him.  Graves looks lost for words, and Credence sees the wide eyes and tight lips that feel so familiar across his own face now gracing Graves’.  He’d never thought it possible before now.  He’d never thought he would be in a position to make others look at him that way.

“Kiss me, Mr Graves.”

Slowly, looking as though he’d just seen his own end, Graves does.


End file.
